


This and this and This

by Estionic



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M, i think this sucks???, man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 21:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7700479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estionic/pseuds/Estionic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, it was hard living under his shadow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This and this and This

‘He would take the world by storm.’ They said.  
‘He would bring glory to _our_  name’ – Patroclus laughed because their reputation depended solely on the victory of _Aristos Achaion_  – they said.  
‘He would… He would… He would…’ 

There were so many things that people said that ‘he would’ _or_  that ‘he could’. But it was never about what he was. They often asked him:

‘Is it hard to be under his shadow?’  
‘What is it like being near a god?’  
‘Is he… is he single?’

At most, Patroclus would shrug – but he would say ‘no’ proudly, a slight quirk of his lips, really – and walk away. While he was resolute in Achilles’ profound love for him, it left him feeling dubious. About whether he was good enough for this god of a man. Thetis made it clear enough that he was most definitely not suitable for him. 

‘You would only tarnish his reputation. Stain his honour.’ Her voice would sound like thunderous waves crashing against eroded rocks. Her ebony eyes, glittering with flecks of gold, would hold no emotion except disgust – a special disgust reserved only for him. Her mouth, two red slashes on her translucent face, would be curled back, revealing bone-white fangs.

All he would do is bow his head respectfully – she was still a goddess after all — and try to hold back tears because the feelings of inadequacy was something that he battled with on a daily basis, and it usually won. Hence, his rather introverted countenance. All Patroclus would do was stumble back to Achilles – because really, it was a mistake to confront Thetis in the first place – face draped in shadows.

* * *

‘You’re doing it again.’ Achilles remarks lightly from his side of the cot. Patroclus doesn’t even need to turn his head to know what Achilles was suddenly talking about. He throws an arm over his eyes, to stop himself from seeing the probing glances of the twin emeralds. A nudge. ‘You’re making that face.’ He says insistently.

Patroclus lifts his arm, and looks over to Achilles whose golden blond hair is shrouded in silvery light of Artemis. He furrows his eyebrows, attempting to feign bemusement. ‘What face?’

Achilles props himself on an elbow, reaching over to stroke the taut muscles of Patroclus’ stomach. Intended to soothe, rather than arouse. ‘The face where you feel bad about yourself. I don’t like that face.’ He pauses, sheepishly. ‘I like your face. I just don’t like that expression.’

‘I talked to your mother.’

The demigod’s face adopts the expression usually reserved for his mother. ‘I see. And what did she say?’ Achilles probably has an idea of what she said, but he wanted to hear what Patroclus had to say.

Patroclus’ face twists up in distaste, and says with a flippant expression. ‘She said that I was going to ruin you. That I’m not good enough for you.’ The almost-insulted look on Achilles’ face was terrifying, and almost made Patroclus wish that he didn’t say anything.

‘Really? After all this time?’ Achilles sits up, and Patroclus follows. He turns towards the man, and cups his face between two finely-shaped hands. ‘You are perfection. You are my everything. There is no one whom I love, whom I worship more than you.’

‘That’s blasphemy.’ Patroclus mumbles lightly, heat growing under his cheeks. ‘Stop that.’

Despite himself, Achilles smiles ( something akin to the sun ), and dips his head to brush their noses together. ‘And if I will not?’ He leans closer, their lips barely a hair-width apart. 

‘Then…’ Patroclus hesitates, glancing briefly at Achilles’ lips – Achilles caught that, and his grin grows wider – and swallows thickly. ‘Then I will not stop you.’ He says it with a finality, a resignation that Achilles is able to lean in to press his mouth against Patroclus’.

Almost immediately, Patroclus reaches up to wrap his arms around Achilles’ neck, pulling him impossibly close. They start to breathe heavily, heads tilted, and mouthing at each other with a desperation that it seems like they are at the brink of death. Achilles pushes him down onto the cot, chest heaving like he ran a marathon. He leaned back, staring down at the man on the sheets. Achilles licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. Mouth bruised, a thin sheen of sweat shining on his skin, Patroclus looked _divine._

Achilles brushed his lips on the vee of Patroclus’ collarbone. ‘I love this.’ He mumbles, laving his tongue over the skin, relishing the taste. He moves lower, brushing his lips against Patroclus’ navel, fingers pressing bruises onto toned thighs. ‘And this.’ Achilles glances up to see Patroclus staring down at him with wide eyes. With a cat-like smile, he dips his head to press his lips against the center of his pleasure, causing Patroclus to arch with a cry. ‘And this.’ He whispers quietly.

All Patroclus could do was moan, grip the sheets in a white-knuckled grip, and throw his head back in a soft wail.

Perhaps… Just perhaps all of his fears were unfounded.


End file.
